


That One Incident With That One Thing That One Time

by theheadandthekin



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance, Swearing, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheadandthekin/pseuds/theheadandthekin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abbie accidentally leaves something in the bathroom. Whoops. </p><p>(Previously posted on Tumblr.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	That One Incident With That One Thing That One Time

She realizes it only when she’s made it into her bedroom, wrapped up in her fuzzy robe, staring at her lingerie drawer–she’d left her vibrator, her gorgeous, expensive, water-proof vibrator, on the counter in the bathroom.

On the _counter._

And her roommate-her goddamn, fucking roommate, with his fucking bedhead and fucking sleep-rumpled thermal and soft ‘good morning’–had gone into the bathroom straight after she’d exited.

So much for an early, relaxing start to her Saturday.

She could try to go get it, knock on the door, say she needed to grab her lotion. She could wait until he was finished and disappear the damn thing back into her bedroom and hope he didn’t notice. Or, at least, wouldn’t say anything.

“Lieutenant?” She hears him shuffle outside of her door.

Oh, _God._

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Would you like some tea?”

“Yeah,” she says, trying to sound normal and unconcerned, “Sounds great.”

When the stairs squeak, she darts across the hallway to the bathroom. It’s right where she left it.

* * *

When she goes downstairs, she finds him with the kettle in the kitchen and–unusually–still wearing what he’d slept in and humming something she recognizes but can’t name.

He just belongs. So what if her heart aches a little at the sight? So _fucking what._

“You were up early. Feeling well this morning?”

“Yeah. You?” she offers simply, sidling up next to him and wrapping her fingers around the mug he slides along the counter toward her. 

“I feel quite well, thank you.” He fiddles with his tea bag for a few moments before speaking again. 

“Is that size pleasurable for you?”

“What? The mug?”

He looks down at her and cocks an eyebrow, and _oh,_ _what the–_ this is _not_ happening. Does he have no sense of–

“Well?”

Although he can probably detect it, she’s glad her blush isn’t _that_ obvious. Fuck him. _Fuck_ him.

“ _Seriously_?”

“Forgive my curiosity, Lieutenant.” But it’s not a plea for forgiveness or an apology or a retraction, asking her to forget it. Or anything like that at all. It’s … she doesn’t know what it is, actually. But it’s _not_ that.

Oh, to hell with it. He wants to have this conversation, that’s on him.

“Yeah, it _is_ pleasurable. It’s for the g-spot. That’s why it’s shaped like that.”

She goes to take a sip of her tea, to feign some nonchalance, and is sure as fuck glad she doesn’t when the next words come out of his mouth:

“Ah, so more like fingers than a cock.”

There isn’t even a response she can form for that; she just gapes up at him. He knows he’s got her tongue–asshole–and takes his time with the tea, slowly lifting the mug to his lips to taste it, turning to tower over her. 

And ending up way too damn close.

Her nose fills with him: tea and bergamot, sweat, warmth, the lingering cedar oil that protects his coats. He smells like a fucking _bed,_ like a– _stop your brain right there_ , Abigail Mills.

Then he does a thing, gaze never leaving her face, curving, _sliding,_ his index and middle fingers around the lip of his mug.

 _Fuck_ him.

“When you’re ready, Lieutenant, you can have both. Eager and in the flesh.”


End file.
